


The Zephyr

by Please_Tommy_Please



Series: Newtmas One-Shots (AUs and canon alike) [2]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Completely platonic and friendly hugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, I don't ship thominho, Kinda Newtmas, M/M, Page 250, Paradise, but I love them as close friends, but not really, kind of, with Minho and Thomas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:45:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5057998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Please_Tommy_Please/pseuds/Please_Tommy_Please
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I listened to 'I Lived' by One Republic while writing this, and kind of based it off that song.</p><p>It has been a week or so since the Munies have arrived at so called “Paradise”. Thomas hasn’t spoken to anyone, not since the first night they arrived here. To be perfectly honest, Minho is completely sick of it, and he’s not about to let Thomas to continue his moping, and so one night while the two hundred something Munies sleep, Minho sits Thomas down and demands to know what is bothering the shank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Zephyr

**Author's Note:**

> The characters and some of the plot ideas (Paradise, etc.) belong to James Dashner, however the idea is my own.

Newt couldn’t help but smile. The giggle that escaped his mouth broadened said smile. Minho was a prankster, that was certain. To be honest, you would think that Newt’s raven-haired friend would have come up with a better prank on Thomas than the classic ‘bucket-of-water-balancing-on-the-door’ trick. Of course, one would also expect Thomas to (literally) see something like that coming. He did not, however, and it resulted in him standing, soaking wet and now thoroughly grumpled, with Minho, Brenda, and Gally laughing heartily at the wet-puppy look on the brunet’s face.

Newt’s large grin lessened, settling at a comfortable, yet genuine as ever, smile, dimples flashing. He had never felt happier than he did at that moment, seeing Thomas, a reluctant smile working its way onto his face, a towel draped on his shoulder, and the little yelps Minho, Gally, and Brenda gave when Thomas playfully swatted them on the back of their heads. After a month of sulking and misery, Thomas was finally happy, and that made Newt happy.

Of course, killing one of your closest friends may be a sufficient reason to sulk and want to be alone. Especially considering no one knew about what had happened at first.

 

_It has been a week or so since the Munies have arrived at so called “Paradise”. Thomas hasn’t spoken to anyone, not since the first night they got here. To be perfectly honest, Minho is completely sick of it, and he’s not about to let Thomas to continue his moping, and so one night while the two hundred something Munies sleep, Minho sits Thomas down and demands to know what is bothering the shank._

_Thomas refuses to answer, but with Minho’s gentle probing and questioning, it breaks the wall Thomas had been constructing, and the memories come flooding back. Thomas is terrified, certain he will drown, be it in his own thoughts or in the non-stop tears now streaming down his face in soft rivulets._

_Minho’s eyes widen and he is quick to pull his closest friend into a tight embrace, Thomas’s face buried in Minho’s shoulder, the black-haired teen’s arms a shield of protection from anything and everything. The silent tears very soon morphs to breathless sobs, anything he says lost in the heart-breaking cries and weeping. It takes a few minutes, maybe even an hour, but Thomas’s sobs diminish to quiet hiccups, which silently fade to nothing._

_The boys sit that way for a few minutes more, relishing each other’s company. Giving Thomas a reassuring squeeze, Minho pulls out of the hug, placing his calloused hands on Thomas’s shoulders and making eye contact with Thomas, maintaining it._

_“Now you’re all cried out, shank, you wanna tell me what’s wrong?” Minho inquires, staring at the bloodshot, disheartened brown irises. Thomas seems to battle internally with himself, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. He closes his eyes. Draws in a deep breath. Releases the air slowly. Is silent._

_“Everything.” Thomas opens his eyes, finds Minho’s. The dispirited look is less noticeable now, a determined, purposeful emotion overriding the despair. The sadness is not gone, not in any way. But it is pushed far enough back that Thomas will be able to tell his story from start to finish, hopefully without an emotional block stopping his words at a certain point._

_Minho nods at the words, gets comfortable, waits until the brunet is ready. Thomas inhales another deep breath, and he tells Minho everything._

_And Newt sits beside Tommy through the entire telling of the story, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder when he seems unable to continue. Thomas feels the presence, like a zephyr, and hesitates, not believing. Thomas feels it circle around him, swears he hears a faint “It’s okay, Tommy.” And there is no doubt._

 

Newt couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t a sad smile, nor was it a happy smile. It was, simply, a smile. He was through with biting his nails and clenching his fists in worry for his friends, his companions. But they were okay. They were content, happy. And hearing the hearty laughter of Minho combined with the bursts of giggles from Thomas, Newt felt at ease.

* * *

Thomas felt Him later on, not just that night he told Newt’s story to Minho. Sometimes, it was when he was sitting peacefully alone. Other times, it was after he’d had a particularly gruesome nightmare. No matter what, He was always there. And Thomas soon found that his favorite time He was around was when he was running.

Because when Thomas was running, he could hear Him too, rather than just feel His presence. Thomas could hear the thumping footsteps on the ground, in time with his own. He could hear the ragged breath, the panting. Thomas would force himself to speed up, as though it were a race. And he would hear a semi-breathless laugh, the familiarity making Thomas’s heart ache longingly.

“Think you can beat me, huh, you bloody shank?” Newt would tease, his footsteps increasing as he would sprint to catch up with Thomas. Sometimes Thomas swore he saw him, his arms pumping, his blond hair whipping in the wind, as if trying to outrun the Runner.

But Newt always let him win.


End file.
